


Knocked Out

by enjoler



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Body Dysphoria, Café Musain, Canon Era, Doctor Combeferre, Doctor Joly, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drunk Grantaire, Enjolras Has Feelings, Exhaustion, Gender Dysphoria, Hypochondria, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining Grantaire (Les Misérables), Pre-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sick Character, Sick Enjolras, Sickfic, Trans Character, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:42:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjoler/pseuds/enjoler
Summary: Enjolras is transgender, and a combination of overwork, exhaustion and dysphoria brought on by his period leads him to a moment of great vulnerability. Also, Joly idolises Combeferre, Combeferre would do anything for Enjolras, and Joly is more than a little fond of laudanum.
Relationships: Combeferre/Enjolras (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Knocked Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm C, and I've been writing fanfic for the better part of seven years, but this is the first time I'm posting anything. I hope you enjoy it, and please do leave comments!

“I swear by it! Best night you’ll ever have. Half a teaspoon of laudanum and into bed with your lovers and you can thank me later.”

“Ah, but Jolllly, my dear boy, in his palace of gold Midas cannot but help forget his riches! Lucky is the man who can procure not one but two bedfellows to lull him to sleep.”

Grantaire poured two shots of absinthe and drank them both. “The laudanum I can acquire, and on occasion one lover if they agree they need not look at me, but two...”

“Showing off again, are we?” Bahorel grinned and pulled the cork from another bottle of wine. “How do they have you, Joly? Do you go in the middle or do you just take that lovely mistress of yours whilst Bossuet sees to the more...daunting parts?”

“He has to go in the middle because it’s all he can take on the laudanum!” L’Aigle crowed, kissing Joly’s temple affectionately. “Honestly, half a teaspoon and he’s practically asleep, you’ve never seen anything so sweet. That’s why he needs two of us.”

Joly’s cheeks pinkened and he ducked his head, smiling a little. “Stop it,” he said with a chuckle. “By the by, I would even say, at risk of deeply offending my dear eagle of Meaux, it can be as enjoyable when you simply take the dose and fall asleep between them. The rest you get from it is unlike anything I’ve ever known.” Then, “And Grantaire, don’t pretend to us that you would have any trouble finding a lover who delights in your appearance. You can dance better than any man I have ever met, you turn marvellously fine somersaults, and I have never seen you bested at singlestick or in the boxing ring. Pray do not pretend that it is any hardship for your lovers to look at you. On the contrary, the girls in the dance-halls and the lads in the gyms doubtless curse themselves when they look away.”

“Oh, Joly, you are a flatterer beyond measure,” Grantaire said, fluttering his eyelashes. “I shall seek these fantasy lovers out posthaste, but perhaps, in the meanwhile, you will let me borrow yours?” Joly giggled and Grantaire took a swig of wine. “On the other hand, though, I could no more part an Hephaestion from his Alexander than you from L’Aigle de Meaux, and I fear it would be a dangerous feat even to attempt.”

Joly smiled and leaned his head on L’Aigle’s shoulder. They had begun a fresh bottle of wine when a call from the corner of the room came.

“Joly?”

Joly looked up: Combeferre had pushed his glasses up on his head and was marking a page in his book. “I was reading about newer ways to treat diphtheria and am becoming increasingly convinced by the theories here.” He gestured to the book. “Come, if you would. I would appreciate your opinion,” and he gave Joly a rare smile.

Joly flushed with pleasure and hurried over to Combeferre’s table, bending intently forwards over the book.

“God, Joly worships the ground he walks on,” L’Aigle muttered fondly. “He comes home from lectures and it’s Combeferre this and Combeferre that and oh, Combeferre lent me a book about- about secondary wrist fractures or some such nonsense, and oh, will I ever be as good a doctor as Combeferre…”

“Someone, my dear L’Aigle, is jealous,” Bahorel said with a smirk, and L’Aigle shoved him playfully in the shoulder. 

“Jealous, indeed! Certainly not of Combeferre. Only one of us has a pretty little thing like Joly in our beds each night, and it isn’t the finest doctor in all of Paris,” saying the last few words in a breathy, high-pitched voice.

“Hark at you!”

“Ah, Combeferre, a dear man if there ever was one. So noble, so intelligent, so learned,” Grantaire drawled. “He to I is as Hyperion to a satyr, and yet we share perhaps the most fundamental thing: the source of all joy in our little lives.”

“But he doesn’t drink.”

“Not wine, Bossuet, you fool.” Grantaire propped his chin on his hand and gazed across the room, his eyes beginning to shine. “Enjolras.”

“I would say the nature of your love for our leader is a little different to Combeferre’s, would you not?”

“If you are suggesting mine is base and his is not I fear you are entirely wrong,” Grantaire said silkily. “Mark how he looks at him and then buy me a drink, for you will have lost your wager. Not that I begrudge him anything, of course, not at all. Indeed, if it came to blows he would have the better claim on Enjolras than I, and is certainly more deserving of him.”

“You are not short of a lover, Grantaire.”

“But I am short of love.” He poured two more shots of absinthe and sank them down quickly. 

“Combeferre, I would ask your eye on this,” Enjolras called from the table in the centre of the room, where he was bent over a map. 

Combeferre looked up, then touched Joly lightly on the shoulder, murmuring something to him, and got up. 

“He clicks his fingers and we all jump,” Grantaire mused. “Even I, silly though I think it.”

“Especially you, you mean.” Bahorel dug him in the ribs. 

Enjolras turned and looked sternly at them. “Grantaire, we are here for serious political discussion. If you wish to talk the night away in this fashion take yourself to the Rousseau and let us work.”

“I have said it before, gentlemen, and I shall say it again,” Grantaire said, leaning back in his chair. “What a fine statue!”

Enjolras turned away, rubbing his temple, and Combeferre murmured to him. He shook his head, turning away, then brushed Combeferre’s hand roughly from his shoulder.   
Joly came back to their table and Grantaire poured him a glass of wine.

“He’s tired,” Grantaire said softly, following Joly’s eyes towards Enjolras and Combeferre. “Look at his shoulders, his neck. They’re tense. He’s working too hard, and keeping too much inside.”

Joly nodded. “Combeferre’s worried about him.”

“Another thing the good doctor and I have in common.”

Joly squeezed his arm gently. “Things will right themselves. Combeferre is a soothing influence on him.”

“Let us hope so, before the marble begins to crack.” He turned back to the table. “Is anyone for dominoes?”

*

“Enjolras, I think it would be wise to go home,” Combeferre said quietly, but Enjolras shook him off again. 

“There is work to be done and we must do it,” he said tightly. 

“You will make yourself ill, I swear to it.” Combeferre touched the inside of his wrist gently. “You look so pale today, so tired-”

“No. Let me be.”

“Please. I will permit you to work at home, but it is not good for you to be on show like this tonight.”

“You do not permit anything I choose to do, least of all my work,” he said icily. “But I will accompany you home if you wish so much to go. We will make little progress here.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre said softly, and Enjolras shrugged his coat on in silence. He nodded curtly at the Amis, then left, with Combeferre hurrying after him, slipping his arm through his. 

“Shall we eat out or at home?”

“I am not hungry.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

Combeferre nodded slowly, biting his lip, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. 

When they entered their lodgings, Enjolras threw his coat off roughly and stretched, emitting a slow, tight sigh. 

“Enjolras-” Combeferre said softly. “Is it- forgive me for asking, but are you close to, ah- your...time?”

Enjolras turned mid-stretch and fixed him with an icy glare, then nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“I should have known-”

“I would rather you did not know.”

“Do you have your rags prepared?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said tightly. 

“Enjolras, I am sorry to remind you of it, I know the pain it causes you, but I wish only to keep you comfortable.”

“I know.” Then: “Combeferre, I am sorry too. I am rejecting your kindnesses tonight. I wish I could accept them, but I fear-”

“What do you fear?”

“I am not a woman. I do not wish to need comfort like one, to be reliant on someone.”

“It is not womanish to need someone to be kind to you. You are a man, Enjolras, and when I offer you this gentleness I do it as a man to a man. Lord knows I am not someone who has ever lain with a woman,” he said with a small laugh.

“I know. I- I am sorry.” He gave a sudden whimper and clutched at his spine, his eyes screwed shut in pain. 

“Enjolras, please, let me help you. Is your back hurting?”

He nodded. 

“At the top or the base?”

“Both. The- the pains are beginning-” He pressed a hand to his lower back with a quiet gasp. “But I fear the- pressure on my chest is not helping.”

“You need to remove the bandages.”

“I cannot.”

“You must. The pain will become unbearable, as Joly always reminds you. You may faint again.”

Enjolras winced. “Combeferre, I cannot stand to look at it.”

“Let me fetch your loosest shirt. You can wear it when you go to bed.”

“I have work to do.”

“You need to rest at this time, you know you do. The work will still be there in the morning.”

“With a thousand other tasks,” Enjolras muttered, but he kicked his boots off and began to unbutton the top of his shirt. Combeferre nodded approvingly and hung his own coat up, then followed Enjolras into his room, watching him take a large, loose shirt from the wardrobe then slowly pull his own over his head. Combeferre moved to stand behind him and gently began to unwind the bandages, tsking when he saw a blossoming bruise at his ribs.

“Not so tight, my dear friend.”

“The pain of the bruises is little beside the pain of leaving them looser, and letting them show what they conceal,” Enjolras said tightly. Combeferre could not see his face, but he suspected his teeth were clenched. 

He sighed softly. “If you must have it like this, I pray you do not wear them when you are alone with me. I fear for your health. The damage it could do to your ribs-”

“I know.”

Combeferre nodded slowly and finished unwinding the bandages. Enjolras pulled his shirt on and ran a hand through his hair, catching the curls up and tying them with a narrow black ribbon. 

“Do you want some salve on the bruises?”

He shook his head. 

“And anything for the pains?”

“No. The- the blood has not come yet. The pains will be worse then, so I will wait.”

“As you will. Are you going to bed?”

“I have to work.”

“Enjolras-”

“Please,” he said softly. “Just a little. I will not sleep otherwise.”

“Very well. Take care.” Combeferre squeezed his shoulder gently, then left the room. 

*

Enjolras closed the books neatly and stacked them on the kitchen table, then took his jacket and waistcoat off. Pushing his hair back, he straightened up, facing the wall. It had been nearly two years since he had last needed rest and silence this badly, but desperation was beginning to burn away at him and he could no longer sleep unaided. Living with Combeferre had gone so far to soothe him, but he could rarely ignore the pain, the bitter reminder of what he lacked, at this time of the month, and it tore at him. As he drew back, then threw himself against the wall, he exhaled with relief. The pain was so clean, so ripe, and he prided himself on an ability to silence his mind without drink or lovers; this was a noble way to do it, a man’s way. He felt a man again, felt a trickle of blood run from his nose and was grateful, so grateful, that it was his blood, of his choosing. His forehead cracked resoundingly against the wall and he fell backwards, out cold.

*

Combeferre stirred, then pushed himself up sleepily. It sounded as though something had fallen; Enjolras had knocked a cup off the table, falling asleep at his papers, or dropped a stack of books on the floor and was cursing silently lest he wake his friend. Combeferre half-smiled. He would wake him, perhaps, or assure him he had not been disturbed, and they would make tea, or eat some of the fresh bread Combeferre had been saving for breakfast; they would talk, and Enjolras would put his head on his shoulder and apologise for his tiredness that night, upon which Combeferre would kiss his temple and — no, he knew that was hoping too much, but the rest, perhaps, the rest Enjolras could allow him. Dressed only in his nightshirt, he padded into the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw Enjolras spreadeagled on the floor.

“Enjolras?” he said softly, then, again, “Enjolras!”

He dropped to his knees beside him and pulled his head into his lap. His eyes were closed and a swelling red mark was appearing on his forehead, but he seemed restless and his breathing was shallow. 

“Enjolras, please, wake up.” Combeferre nudged him, then began to stroke his hair slowly. Enjolras tossed a little, his right leg kicking up slightly, then opened his eyes. He looked up and Combeferre and began to cry.

“Enjolras, no, I’m here,” he said, reaching down to take his hand. “Are you badly hurt?”

He shook his head, then nodded, then gave a racking sob. “I’m so t-t-tired-”

“I know, I know.” He stroked his hair again, making slow soothing noises of the kind he did to the motherless babies left on the doorstep of the hospital. “Did you fall asleep at your books?”

Enjolras shook his head again, then hid his face in the lap of Combeferre’s nightshirt. 

“Oh, dear,” he murmured. “You’re with me, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened?”

Enjolras’s fist clenched in the linen. “I- I ran into the wall.”

Combeferre felt his mouth drop open. “What? Why?”

“I was so tired-” He broke off in a wave of tears. “I- I- my head, I was so tired, nothing would be quiet, I couldn’t rest or- or work, I just- I needed the silence, it feels good to do it this way-”

“Enjolras, what on earth are you talking about?”

He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling blankly. “I have done this before, when living alone,” he said in a flat voice. “I cannot silence myself sometimes, and I become unable to work, but sleep eludes me-”

“You should have woken me. I could have given you something, something to help you sleep, or been with you-”

“No!” Impulsively Enjolras reached up and wrapped his arms around Combeferre’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. “I couldn’t-” and he began to sob again. 

“Shh, shh, Enjolras,” he murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

“I had to do it, I needed peace-”

“What is troubling you so greatly?”

“I feel so empty-” he howled, and Combeferre felt a lump in his throat. 

“But you’ve always been so driven, so filled with your purpose,” he said gently. “You have me, you have all of us, you have your studies.”

Enjolras was sobbing inconsolably on Combeferre’s shoulder. “I’m fighting harder and harder but I can’t, I’m so tired-”

“You need to rest, my friend,” he said softly. “And your head needs seeing to. Your poor face-”

“I’m sorry-” Enjolras clung to him with all the strength of his marble limbs. “Please don’t think me weak-”

“I could never think you weak. This insistence alone shows you to be the strongest of men.”

Enjolras whimpered, hiding his face. 

“And you are a man, Enjolras,” Combeferre whispered. “I promise you that.”

Enjolras gripped him a little tighter, and Combeferre felt a lump rise in his throat. 

“What I’m going to do now, Enjolras,” Combeferre said gently, at length, “Is help you undress and get into bed. I will send very quickly for Joly, because I need his help, then-”  
“No! No, I can’t bear for anyone to see me like this-”

“I promise it will help. We could never think less of you. We will see to your injuries, then I shall make sure you are quite alright as you fall asleep.” His voice in his own ears sounded distant; he was so frightened that he was almost on the verge of tears himself. “Can you stand?”

Enjolras tried, but his legs gave out and Combeferre wrapped an arm around him and pulled him gently to his room. He collapsed on the bed and Combeferre undressed him slowly, threading his arms through a clean nightshirt. 

“I am going to send for Joly now. I will be back very soon.”

Enjolras nodded weakly, his eyelashes fluttering, and Combeferre hurried to his room to dress hastily and trotted out of the apartment and down the stairs. A gamin was dozing propped against the wall of the bakery next door, and Combeferre nudged him gently. 

He woke, confused, then mumbled, “Sod off, monsieur-”

“It’s very important,” he said quietly. “I need you to fetch my friend for me, he lives just off the Boul’Mich, not ten minutes away. Knock loudly and ask for Monsieur Joly, understand?”

The boy rubbed his eyes but nodded. “And what’s my fee for all this service?”

“Oh…” Combeferre felt in his pocket for a few sous. “Will this do?”

He looked at it, his head on one side, and nodded.

“Thank you. Monsieur Joly, alright?”

He hurried back inside and up to Enjolras. He was lying in bed but shifting fitfully, and Combeferre ran a hand slowly over his hair. “I’m here.” 

From the kitchen he brought a bowl of water, then dipping his handkerchief in it began to bathe his bruised forehead. Enjolras whined and Combeferre hushed him gently, then pulled some ointment from the cupboard and began to dab it across the swelling. Moments later he heard the door open and the tap of Joly’s cane. 

“Combeferre, my dear friend, what is the matter at this time of night?” His head peeped around the door.

“Enjolras fell. Come in, I need you to help me.”

Joly hung his coat over the door and propped his cane against the wall, then trotted in obligingly. 

“Look over his arms, they may be bruised.” 

Joly dutifully rolled up Enjolras’s sleeve, running his hand gently down his arm. “Left elbow, and just below the elbow too.”

Wordlessly Combeferre passed him the ointment and Joly rubbed it gently into his skin before checking his other arm and finding the same bruises. 

“He looks as if he fell backwards, onto his forearms,” Joly mused. “What happened to him?”

“He threw himself against the wall,” Combeferre said tightly. “Because he couldn’t sleep.”

“Because he couldn’t sleep? Rather extreme, is it not?”

“Joly, I do not require a commentary. He is badly hurt.”

“Not so badly as all that, surely,” he said amiably. “The bruising will go down-”

“I fear for his skull. We have no idea how bad the injury could be.”

He nodded slowly and Enjolras moaned as Joly prodded his arms and shoulders. “He seems a little- upset.”

“Do you often throw yourself at a wall in your finest mood?” Combeferre snapped. “He had some sort of- I don’t know, a breakdown when I found him. He was crying, said he felt empty-”

“Overwork,” Joly said softly. “He needs rest.”

“I know he needs rest!”

Joly nodded again, biting his lip, then pulled back a little. “I suppose that’s all we can do now. The bruising will be fine, at any rate.”

Combeferre nodded tightly.

After a pause Joly said softly, “Combeferre?”

“What?”

“Forgive me for asking, but if he was as distressed as you say, why did you not give him anything?”

“What sort of thing?”

“Laudanum or something of the like. To help him sleep, or to calm him when he was weeping. Would it not have helped? You perhaps would even have had no need of me.”  
“Enjolras hates laudanum and things of the like,” he said coldly. “He will not have his state of mind altered.”

“No, I daresay not, but it may have helped him quieten. Perhaps even before he goes to bed-”

“He would rather knock himself out this way than take your laudanum.”

Joly nodded slowly. “It’s not- entirely uncommon, I suppose. I mean, of course people drink and so on to make themselves sleep, but some people do what Enjolras does- did. When Grantaire gets in one of his black moods he goes to fight singlestick until someone knocks him out.”

“That is nothing like Enjolras’s exhaustion.” His voice was very terse. “How do you know Grantaire’s telling you the truth when he says that?”

“Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s dishonest,” Joly said quietly. “I go with him. I don’t fight, of course, I like my cane far too well for that, but I can patch him up and take him home when he’s finished, and often he feels better afterwards.”

“Oh, so I should allow Enjolras to keep on with this, should I? Because it might make him feel better?”

“Well, no, of course not, but perhaps you should think about that before you refuse to give him laudanum.” Joly was helping himself into his coat and picking up his cane. “I’m sorry I have been little help tonight, but-”

“Well, perhaps if you weren’t on so much bloody laudanum yourself at any given time you’d have had a better idea of how to help me, doctor,” Combeferre hissed. “I frown upon Grantaire and his drink and his fighting, I know, but my God, Joly, you’re almost as bad as he is, and you a scholar too. You should be better than that. What sort of surgeon do you think you’ll turn out to be?”

Joly flinched, blinking several times. His mouth was a little open and he rubbed his nose anxiously with the knob of his cane. “Combeferre-”

He turned away, his hands knotted behind his neck. “Your imaginary ailments will do you no good in real medical emergencies. Surely you are aware of that. Leave me. I- I should never have sent for you. I will nurse Enjolras myself.”

He took a shaky breath and leaned heavily on his cane. “I- of course. Forgive me.” His voice was very small. “I- I was unwise to- to speak as I did. You are the better doctor by far, I know that, and I know my...ailments appear foolish to you. I- would you ask that I leave?”

Combeferre turned and winced. Joly looked to be holding back tears. “I- Joly, forgive me,” he said softly. “That was- cruel.”

“No, you were right to tell me the truth,” he said, appearing to suppress a whimper. “I am a hypochondriac, not a doctor, over-fond of laudanum, and it has made me soft.”  
“No, no, that’s not what I meant, I-” but Joly was shaking his head. 

“I think you are best left to your work,” he said gently, and Combeferre pushed a hand through his hair, distressed. “Will I see you at the Musain tomorrow?”

“You- you will.”

Jolt nodded, then patted Combeferre’s shoulder. “Then I shall fly away happy on my winged l’s. Take good care of him.”

“Oh, Joly-” he breathed, biting his lip, then leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the wall and his hands still supporting his neck, as if without them his head would cease to sit on his shoulders.

*

Joly let himself into his rooms with shaking hands and slammed the door behind him, kicking off his boots and leaving his cane in the hall. He limped into the bedroom, then doubled up, his hands on his knees, as a sob racked him.

The heap of blankets on the bed stirred, and L’Aigle mumbled, “Joly, is that you back?”

Joly nodded, biting his lip and trying to straighten up. “I-”

“Shh, Chetta’s still asleep.” L’Aigle gestured to the curled form beside him, the long dark hair spread over the pillow, then sat up sleepily, running a hand over the back of his bald head. “Are you crying?”

“No, no, no!” Joy attempted to smile and stretched as if tired. “Not at all.”

“What was the matter? Was Enjolras very bad?”

“He- yes, he was rather. But that wasn’t so troubling really, once we got him to bed.”

“Then why are you all a-shiver, dear boy?”

Joly looked down, then turned away, his eyes prickling again. “Combeferre- Combeferre was- no, I’m foolish. He is a skilled doctor who has little need of my twittering at the bedside of one so important, and he rightly had no use for me and said so. But-” He tugged his cravat off ill-temperedly and unbuttoned the waistcoat, unthreading his watchchain from the top buttonhole and lying it on the bedside table. “He was cold to me.”

“Combeferre can be cold sometimes,” L’Aigle murmured. “As can I when you leave me alone in the bed without you to warm me. Back in, if you please, my dear Jolllly.”  
Joly stripped down to his shirt and crawled miserably into bed beside him. “He says I’m a mock invalid who takes too much laudanum,” he said mournfully, and L’Aigle sighed and tucked his head into the crook of Joly’s neck. 

“That wasn’t very nice of him,” he said sleepily. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“But it’s true! I am pathetic, the illnesses never manifest even though the pain does. And even I know — well, especially I know — that it’s ridiculous to take as much laudanum as I do.”

“Grantaire has mocked your coat as a moving apothecary’s shop for months and you have laughed with him. Does this hurt you particularly because you admire Combeferre so?”  
Joly closed his eyes. “Would you begrudge me a teaspoon — half a teaspoon — of laudanum for the pain?”

“Is your knee troubling you?”

“No, I’m-” His breath caught. “I’m sad.”

L’Aigle kissed his cheek lazily, propping himself up a little on his elbow. “Then speak on it.”

“You were sleeping.”

“You have since roused me sufficiently to listen.”

“Chetta is sleeping.”

“Dear Chetta sleeps like the dead, you know that.”

“May I have some laudanum first?”

“You said not two minutes ago that you took too much.”

“I shall give it up tomorrow.”

“Half a teaspoon and no more, then, if you really need it.”

“Will you fetch it? The bottle's on the mantel.”

L’Aigle pushed himself out of bed and picked his way over to the mantel. His lean body was a brushstroke in the dark, and despite himself Joly murmured appreciatively. L’Aigle chuckled and slipped back in, passing Joly the bottle. With a trembling hand he measured out half a teaspoon and dosed himself, a heavy sigh escaping from deep in his chest.   
“God, that stuff’s magic,” he mumbled, snuggling close to L’Aigle with his head on his shoulder.

“Now, you’d better tell me what your trouble is about.”

“Oh, that,” Joly said sleepily. “Well, Combeferre called for me because Enjolras had apparently knocked himself out.”

“Knocked himself out?”

“He threw himself against the kitchen wall. Apparently it’s something he used to do frequently, when he lived alone. Combeferre’s presence calms him now, and he hasn’t done it since living with him, but we all thought at the Musain last night that something was wrong with him, didn’t we?”

L’Aigle nodded. “He was so tense and snappy, and he really did look ill.”

“I think it’s overwork. He’s been doing so much, too much, and we forget that although he hates the bourgeois institution of the law school, he is still the brightest in his year, and he works hard for that accolade.” Joly slipped an arm under L’Aigle’s back. “And he’s- I don’t know, somehow sad. He must be quite lonely, I sometimes think. His- condition isolates him somewhat, you know. Anyway, he and Combeferre went home and he was up working late, wouldn’t go to bed, wouldn’t eat, so Combeferre left him up and went to bed. He was woken by a terrible crash and found Enjolras lying on the kitchen floor out cold. When he came round he had some sort of- I don’t know, I suppose you’d call it a breakdown. Sobbing and sobbing, saying all sorts of things.”

“Enjolras?”

“I know. Which explains why Combeferre was so worried. He sent some gamin for me, as you heard, and I got there and helped minister to Enjolras, and I explained that it’s not so uncommon to do that, or something similar. We all have our ways of quieting ourselves.”

“And he didn’t like that?”

“He thought I wasn’t being serious enough, even though I was only trying to ease him up a bit. He laid into me about the laudanum and-” Joly broke off, his lip beginning to tremble. 

“Go on.” L’Aigle brushed a hand gently over his cheek. 

“And he asked me what kind of doctor I’d be. I know he’s the more skilled, I don’t know why he sent for me- I suppose he was scared but that made him cruel, and I just- I admire him so much, and I want so badly for him to think well of me, but he sees me as a-”

“He doesn’t see you as anything except his friend,” L’Aigle said. “You mustn’t take it to heart.”

“But I- what if I’m not a good doctor after all?”

“Jolllly, don’t be ridiculous. You know perfectly well that you’ve the makings of a wonderful doctor. Combeferre might be the more skilled, but he’s the older, and although he’s a dear boy who wouldn’t do ill by any of us, I would say with some confidence that you’re a wee bit kinder.”

“Do you really think so?” Joly looked up at him, his eyes wide. 

“You know I do. Combeferre is a good doctor but not a patient one, whilst you are willing to take great pains over your charges. Grantaire would probably be dead without you, and Jehan, for that matter.”

Joly bit his lip and tucked his leg over L’Aigle’s. “But I really do need to work harder. And stop taking laudanum.”

“Look, I think stopping it is perfectly sensible, but don’t do it just because you fear Combeferre’s disapproval. Grantaire still drinks, Jehan still smokes opium, Courfeyrac still picks up pretty girls. We all need something.”

“Perhaps that’s why Enjolras knocked himself out.”

“He’ll make himself ill if he carries on as he is. I hope this has given him the shock he needs — and Combeferre too, for that matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Combeferre lives with Enjolras, so he has a duty to make sure he is fed and rested — and that he recognises the limitations of his condition. He knows when he neglects that duty that Enjolras will suffer, because he refuses to take care of himself. This might make him sharpen up.”

Joly nodded slowly. “Well- perhaps.” 

“He was probably cold with you because he’s angry with himself. He’ll beg your forgiveness tomorrow, you’ll see if he won’t.”

“No, that doesn’t matter, I’m not angry at him,” he said softly. “I forgive him. It’s that I’m worried he’s right.”

“I have assured you he is not, but I realise that you will not believe me until you have slept at least a little.” He wrapped an arm around Joly’s shoulder and stroked his hair slowly. “To bed with you.”

Joly nodded sleepily and pressed a light kiss to L’Aigle’s cheek before closing his eyes.

*

A knock sounded at the door and Joly started, looking up. 

“You’d better answer it, you’re the only one fully dressed,” Musichetta said, stirring the coffee on the stove. He nodded and hastened to the door, then started, looking down. 

“Joly,” Combeferre said softly. 

“Combeferre. I- I trust Enjolras is well?”

“He shall be well. I- ah, I did not come about that.”

“Oh.”

“May I come in?”

“Goodness, yes, of course, I’m sorry.” Joly stood aside hastily and allowed Combeferre in. Musichetta waved from the stove, and Combeferre half-smiled.   
“Is there somewhere we can speak?”

Joly nodded, and led him quietly into the small sitting room. He knew that his limp had become more pronounced with nerves, and nearly tripped as he shut the door behind them. 

Combeferre clasped his hands behind him and took a few paces. “Joly, I-” He exhaled, paused a moment. “I have come to apologise. I was cruel to you last night. Very cruel.”

“Combeferre, please, there is no need, you were under great stress-”

“But I was cruel. There was no reason for that, and I am sorry. I know it is made worse because you-” He seemed to grope for words. “Your conception of my work-”

“You mean because I respect you so greatly.”

“Forgive me. There is no way to say it without seeming arrogant, but I promise I do not mean-”

“But is is the truth,” Joly said gently. “I do respect you. I look up to you and your work a great deal.”

“Which is why I should have better weighed my words. I know you take what I say with seriousness. But I am not the great doctor I would have you believe, because no good doctor would treat a fellow physician as I did you last night.”

Joly blinked.

“And we are more equals than not, much more. Also, you undervalue your own skill — not, I suppose, that I helped much with that. But I respect and admire you very greatly, Joly. You are warmer of heart and gentler in manner than any doctor I know.”

“Combeferre-” Joly said, feeling his cheeks flush with pleasure. 

“And those are things I...lack. And I would do well to learn from your example of tenderness. Towards my patients — towards Enjolras — as much as towards you.”  
“But you are tender with Enjolras.”

“I do not try as hard as I might. I- I fear his rejection, and I do not wish him to feel that I view him differently because of, well...what we may call his condition. I love him as a man to a man, and I ought to show him. And if that involves monitoring his care more closely, giving him the medication he requires instead of allowing him to refuse it, then that is what I must do.”

“That is a brave thing to realise.”

“I had to learn it. Yesterday shocked me to my senses.”

“But you cannot blame yourself.”

“I know. I just- oh, I wish I could wave a wand or wield some wonderful new feat of medical science and make Enjolras the man we know he is. The pain of such an entrapment-”  
“It must be very hard for him to bear.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. There was a long silence, then Combeferre said softly, “Thank you for your time, Joly. And your forgiveness. It is not something I will forget.”

Joly smiled a little, oddly flattered, and patted Combeferre on the shoulder. “Of course, my friend.”

They left the sitting room quietly and returned to the little kitchen. L’Aigle was at the kitchen table in shirtsleeves, drinking coffee and reading yesterday’s paper. 

“Ah, Combeferre,” he said lightly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Combeferre said, a little uncomfortably. Turning to Joly, he touched him lightly on the back and said, “I must go back, but I hope I will see you this evening, my dear friend.”

“Of course.”

Combeferre half-smiled, and the door opened and shut behind him. 

Joly turned back to L’Aigle and Musichetta with his cheeks pink. “He- he came to apologise.”

“Well, good,” L’Aigle said. “He had cause to.”

“But he did it. He was man enough to admit to it,” Musichetta said fairly. “That’s not something anyone can do. He’s an honest man.”

Joly nodded. “And he called me his dear friend,” he said, a little note of pleasure slipping into his voice. L’Aigle rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and Musichetta kissed him on the cheek. 

“Sit down and drink your coffee, you silly boy.”


End file.
